


armory

by savedby



Series: Bold in Gold [7]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Multi, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 02:00:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13471323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savedby/pseuds/savedby
Summary: A collection of miscellaneous one shots for the Las Vegas Golden Knights.Ch.1: Bill's hattyCh.2: Defending Schmidty's honor





	1. Bill's hatty

**Author's Note:**

> I'm making this into a dumping ground for shorter fic that sparks up for me during the season and I don't have the time or the motivation to turn into longer fic. I'm still working on the next instalment of this series, but I'll be updating here too. As ever, thanks for your continued support.

  
  


Bill seems a little overwhelmed by the attention. Everyone wants a moment with him, to impart a word of praise, a hug, a hand run through his already sweaty curls. Bill just keeps on smiling, looking around in awe and no small amount of disbelief, as if confused how all of this can be for him.

 

Flower watches him from his stall and feels a momentary flash of anger. A spark of bitterness, at all their former cities, who’d decided every one of the men in this room was expendable and left them with something to prove. 

 

It makes for one heck of a chip on their collective shoulder and while the desire to prove themselves is probably a big reason for their success, it’s a shadow too, hanging over their heads. Flower sees it sometimes, in the tight twist of Nealer’s mouth.

 

The anger passes as quickly as it came. Flower’s been in this game long enough to know it’s a business. He’s had fewer reasons to feel hurt by it than many in this room.

 

He’s old enough by now to know that legacies are one in a million and all the more precious for it.

 

Perry swoops in to hug Bill, pressing a kiss to his hair. It’s how Perry is, awfully affectionate and never without a smile. Belly cuts in, protesting that Perry is handling Bill too roughly, only to grab him next, pressing kisses to his cheeks in a way that makes Bill flush and squirm.

 

Marche says something cutting to call them off, amusement drawing his words in a softer light. They laugh. The French contingent is possibly the strongest indicator of how unusual their team is.

 

It’s only been a few months, but the way they move around each other is so natural, so sweetly domestic that it’s hard not to get caught up in their orbit, in the way they so obviously care about each other.

 

Bill laughs, looking back and forth between them as Marche and Belly start to bicker, Perry only occasionally cutting in, to egg them on. It’s a familiar sight by now. Funnier in French though, with Marche getting increasingly incensed, and Belly making fun of his archaic pronunciation.

 

Malcolm breaks into Flower’s thoughts with a softly spoken question and Flower turns towards him, giving him his full attention.

 

It’s Malcolm’s win today, more than it is Flower’s. In the future, these might start to outnumber his. Malcolm is a good goalie (held back by years of poor development) and he’s thrived under the pressure, under the weight of trust the team has placed on him.

 

He still has a lot to learn (not like Muzz, who’d always had all the pieces) and Flower doesn’t mind teaching.

 

Their quiet discussion is interrupted by yells of “Speech! Speech!” aimed towards where Bill has barely managed to wiggle out of his skates and pants.

 

Bill’s not one to back down though. He smooths back his hair and gets up, rocking on his heels until the room quiets down expectantly.

 

“First franchise hattrick,” Bill says, to immediate whoops that make him flush. “I wouldn’t be here without you guys,” he says, and it sounds like a media answer but the meaning is sincere.

 

“From the first player,” Bill says, looking at the door to the locker room where Reid is standing in his best suit and his arm in a sling. He squeaks instinctively at the attention, but smiles. He’s been with the team from the beginning of the season, sidelined with an injury but always there, ready to lend an ear or a joke to break the tension.

 

“...to first in the Pacific,” Bill says. “Let’s keep it going, boys.” He finishes to deafening cheers, grinning.

 

Vegas isn’t home for Flower like it is for Endo. It doesn’t feel right, still, not like it does for Schmidty. Maybe it never will and maybe that’s okay.

 

Flower opens his eyes, grinning. The cheers around him like an echo from the stands before. It’s more than anyone could have imagined. It’s enough.

 


	2. Defending Schmidty's honor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's Nate talking about Marche's roughing penalty against Lindholm](https://twitter.com/SinBinVegas/status/955567876643041280)

 

It's not like Jonathan has a complex because of his height. He's small compared to other guys playing the game, but who cares if he can score, right? Still, he knows he's hardly a fighter or a heavy hitter. Wouldn't even want to be, really, with how their time in the league is running out.

 

He's not thinking about any of that, as Lindholm slams Schmidty into the boards and he gets up all shaky. All he knows is that his vision goes red and the next thing he's aware of is punching Lindholm in the face and earning himself a roughing penalty.

 

He can't see Schmidty's face on the bench, because Endo is sitting between them and he's so big that looking around him would be too obvious, but Belly claps him on the back with one of his hands, looking almost awestruck. 

 

 

*

 

 

Jonathan walks into the locker room to loud whistles and whoops. Bill yells, "Here comes the enforcer, guys!" and Haula starts a chant of "Bruiser, bruiser!" Jonathan rolls his eyes at them, giving Schmidty the opportunity to blindside him with a hug.

 

He smells like sweat and sunshine. "I had him on the ropes," he says, and Jonathan snorts from where his head is crushed against his shoulder and sweaty shoulder armour.

 

"Sure you did," Jonathan says, agreeably. Schmidty hugs him tighter just briefly, long enough that breathing is becoming an issue, and then lets go.

 

"Thanks," he says, softly, almost shyly. Jonathan sighs and reaches up to ruffle his awful hair.

 

 

*

 

 

"It was a clean hit," Perry says to him later, holding the ice pack to Jonathan's knuckles. "You could have left it. No one expects you to do that."

 

"Yeah, well," Jonathan huffs, "I don't want anyone to think they can take liberties with our boys."

 

And the look that Perry gives him is so soft and fond, that he has to look away and focus on the pain in his hand for a while just to keep from doing something embarrassing. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose you could read some Marche/Perry into this, but it's not massively intentional, they're just generally soft af.

**Author's Note:**

> I accept fic prompts in the comments and on my [tumblr.](http://muzzmurray.tumblr.com/) Hit me up.


End file.
